


stage-dorks

by certifiedrecycling



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: AU, And talk, Dorks, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Musicals, Oneshot, Romance, and they sit next to each other, basically jer and michael have never met, i wrote some on a plane, its another one of my 3 am creations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 13:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20026498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/certifiedrecycling/pseuds/certifiedrecycling
Summary: "I-I um," I stand up. "Yeah, let me move…"You know that thing where you're about to walk into someone, so you both move, but move in the same direction, so you end up doing a little tango of try-not-to-bump-into-each-other?Yeah.I bumped into him.—Magical things happen on Broadway.(or; jeremy and michael sit next to each other and geek out)





	stage-dorks

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! welcome to another 3 AM creation! i swear im getting sleep-
> 
> this is loosely based off of my experience seeing be more chill on bway (!!), since there was this cool kid next to me and we got to chat about the show a bit. also, my seat got upgraded, just like jere, so yeah.
> 
> i wrote half of this on a boring 12 hr flight, and picked it up again after a few days.
> 
> i just needed some fluff in my life. for the record, jer and micah dont know each other in this au. jer lives in new jersey, and micah lives in massachusetts (dont ask why). i also split up the squip squad to even it out a bit!
> 
> and; i suck at romance, for how much i write it. enjoy!

My hands rub themselves on my jeans. The sun is pounding down on my face, despite the fact I'm here in the shade. I look up to see the bright letters in light blue perfection:

Dear Evan Hansen: A New Broadway Musical

My dad is standing beside me. "You have your phone, right?"

Oh. Right. I'm seeing this alone. I was expecting a signal from my dad, a step forward, to tell my brain to get its act together. But I guess I'm really dependant on him.

I swallow. "Yeah."

He studies me. "Did you take your pills?"

Right. The ones for ADHD, which explains my urge to run and hide. Of course, that could also be my anxiety talking. I have to think. Did I take those?

"I think so." I lie, because I can't remember this morning. "Yeah, I did." 

He nods. "Alright. And you have your cards?"

Cards, as in the things I doodled out for the cast days prior. I had a lot of trouble with Jared, for some reason. 

When I told Christine I was watching this, she squealed and begged me to bring her along. I couldn't, and she had some dance practice today anyway. But now I'm begging for a friend to guide me. 

It's 1:30, so the doors have opened. I see an unhealthy amount of teenage girls. Some moms and dads. Old people and adults on dates. Some teenage boys like me. I instinctively clutch my ticket. Orchestra. Row D. Seat 1. My dad and I had visited the box office before to pick up our tickets, and the lady said I could upgrade from my measly back-mezzanine misery. I accepted. So now I'm gonna be insanely close to the action. 

They do a baggage check, and I show off my small blue backpack, my index cards inside it, along with a bottle of water. The guy smiles at me, and reminds me that if the actors don't show up to stagedoor, I can give it to a security guard to get it to them nonetheless. I thank him and walk into the crowded lobby.

I give my ticket to some guy in a suit. He raises an eyebrow and scans it, and pauses to the point where I think I'm going to be detained by the Broadway police. For some reason. But he just nods, hands back my ticket, and gestures to a set of open doors with an 'have an amazing time.'"

I've never sat in Orchestra. Mainly Mezzanine, and Balcony if it's offered, because prices. You can instantly tell the people here are the rich folk. A group of teenage girls are sitting in the front row, posting to their Instagram stories. I inhale, then exhale, and sit in my seat.

My hand taps the side of the chair as I scan through my stories. I post one of me holding the playbill up awkwardly in front of the stage. Christine replies instantly, gushing over the view. I like her message and look at posts. 

I look at the actors' stories, and I'm greeted with some videos of them backstage. It's kinda nice, seeing something important on the day you visit, since they do this 8 shows a week.

Mostly, I'm thinking about who my seatmates are gonna be. God forbid it's a young couple. Adult couples are slightly less bad, but not admirable. Maybe someone alone, just like me, would be bearable. 

I hear some guy talking to the kind lady handing out playbills and giving seat directions. "Hey, where's seat D3?"

I scan the seat next to me. Seat 3. 

"Oh, it's the fourth row, right next to that young man with the blue cardigan."

That's me.

"Thank you!"

"Enjoy the show!" I hear footsteps, and I'm ready to get up and clear the way for this mystery man.

"Hey, I think I'm supposed to sit there, next to you…" The guy trails off, and I look up to see a teenage boy, probably my age, in a red hoodie decorated with patches. I study them.

Filipino and Ecuadorian. Is the pride patch for himself or to show he's an ally? Pac-Man. Rise Against Racism. 

He has messy dark brown hair, and glasses that seem a little too big for his face, which also has a mole sitting next to his mouth, which is curled into a smile. He's holding the playbill and his ticket in one hand.

"I-I um," I stand up. "Yeah, let me move…"

You know that thing where you're about to walk into someone, so you both move, but move in the same direction, so you end up doing a little tango of try-not-to-bump-into-each-other?

Yeah. 

I bumped into him.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry." I hold a hand to my mouth, and the kid just laughs and adjusts the ticket in his hand.

"It's all good." He walks into the row and sits next to me. "Watching alone?"

"Y-yeah." I face the stage as I sit down, still recovering from my slip-up. "I actually got my seat upgraded. I was supposed to be like, last row in Mezzanine. No extra charge."

"Wow, really?" The kid opens the book and studies the ads. It's pride month, so the regular yellow strip that reads Playbill is a rainbow. Plus there are a bunch of LGBT ads inside. "My moms gave me this as a birthday present. 2 weeks ago."

Two moms. Okay, so that's what the patch is for.

"Huh." I cough. "Do you watch a lot of shows?"

"No, actually." He smiled. "This is my second one. First was the Book of Mormon. I'm hoping to see more. You?"

"Second one for me too!" I grin. "First one was The Lion King."

"Ooh. Classic." The kid flips to the actor page. "I've always wanted to see Hamilton."

"Hasn't everyone?" I joke. "I mean, tickets are really expensive, so I've given myself up to bootlegs- I mean, slime tutorials." To add to it, I look around the theatre, pretending to look for cameras.

The kid laughs. "Hey, what's your name? I'm Michael." He holds his hand out.

"Jeremy." I shake it. His hand is unnaturally soft. What lotion does he use?

"Nice to meet you, Jeremy." Michael leans back. "How long have you known the show?"

"Only after it got popular on the internet." I shrug. "I'm really glad it's original cast." No understudies or anything! That's pretty rare.

"Yeah, I'm so excited to see Ben Platt. And Mike Faist. And Will Roland." He studied the actors' page. "And Laura Dreyfuss. And practically everyone."

"Are you doing stagedoor?" I ask, opening my bag.

"Probably." He looks at my hands as I bring out the cards, laminated by Christine, bless her soul.

"I drew these for the cast." I shuffle through them. Michael takes the one for Connor.  
"You're actually amazing at art." He gapes, looking at my other creations. "I love them! Are you giving it to them or just getting them signed?"

I think. "I mean, they can have them? I just probably want a picture with them and the signed thing." My phone buzzes. It's Christine, sending me a picture of her dog. 

"That's cool." Michael scratches his neck and looks at my cardigan. I lift my arm to see what he's staring at. Oh. Patches.

There's a Lion King one. And a French flag (because that's what I half-am). Pac-Man. 

"I like your patches." I blurt out. "They're cool."

"Right back at you, Jer." So we're already on nickname terms.

The lights dim, and the audience begins to clap as the music starts. Evan, or Ben Platt, sits on the bed expectantly. I flash Michael a look, and find him staring right back. We smile at the lights come up and the show begins. 

—

Intermission. I rub my arms under the red sleeves, chills gracing my body after You Will Be Found.

"Wow." That's all I can say, really. Jeremy nods.

"That was...so cool!" He grinned. "I could see everything so well! Evan was so good...and Zoe!"

I nod. "I couldn't help but laugh when Jared slipped and nearly fell during Sincerely, Me." I chuckle just thinking about it and take out my phone to check Instagram. "The joys of live theater."

"What's your insta?" Jeremy asks curiously. 

"@michael_mell." I state, showing off the profile picture of me at this cool 3D art place in the Philippines. It looks like I have angel wings. "Simple enough."

"Michael Mell?" Jeremy laughs. "Sounds like a superhero name. Like Peter Parker."

A Marvel stan too?

"Good observation." I check my notifications to see @jeremy_heere3 has requested to follow you. I hold up my phone. "Jeremy Heere? You?"

"Yeah." Jeremy nods. I accept the request and do the same to his account. The profile picture is him alongside a girl in a green dress with a flower printed on it, partially covered by a jean jacket. Something inside me groans.

"Is that your girlfriend?" I hold up the phone and point to the picture.

Jeremy stares at me, confused, before he processes. "What? No! Christine's not my girlfriend." He scoffs. "She's dating this guy named Jake. Hold on." He shows me a picture of a guy with obvious muscles and a winning smile.

"You sound jealous."

"Maybe a little bit." He shrugs. "But we're good friends, and I can't compare to perfection."

We sit in silence as I like his posts.

"Y'know, if I were to marry you and take your last name, I would be Michael Heere." I state, looking for a reaction. He gives me a weird stare.

"Wha?"

"So I could say 'Hey, Vsauce, Michael Heere!'" I crack, snorting. Jeremy begins to giggle.

"That was so bad, I can't even…" He buries his face in his hands. "God."

"I'm made of horrible puns and conversation starters." I think. "Okay, it's not a joke, but I saw on Discovery this thing about how humanity has stopped evolving."

"That's...good?"

"Yep! Humanity was built on survival of the fittest, right? But now, because of technology, you don't need to be strong to survive!" I throw my hands up, probably annoying the people behind us. "Which means there's never been a better time in history to be a loser!"

"Good for me, huh?" Jeremy laughs with a bit of bitterness. "How'd you know?"

"I didn't. Just thought it was cool." I shrug. "But I'm a loser too. My nickname is basically 'Antisocial Headphones Kid', gifted by my friend Rich." I show him a picture of the guy. He got hurt in a house fire during some party, so he has burn scars decorating the left side of him. He also has a red strip through his hair.

"Huh." Jeremy points at the girl beside him in curly hair. "Girlfriend?"

"Chloe?" I nod. "Yeah. Pretty much. The girl taking the picture is Jenna. Basically the gossip queen. Knows everything about everyone."

"Hm." I watch as Jeremy likes a picture of a blonde girl on the beach. 

"Who's that?"

"My friend Brooke. She kinda liked Jake, and was pretty crushed when he dated Chris." He smiled. "She's popular but not a dumb blonde."

"Startling."

"I know, right? She's trying to get into an Ivy League school. I think she definitely could."

"We have startling friend groups." I chuckle. "Where are you from?"

"New Jersey. Trenton. The epitome of average." Jeremy waves his hand dismissively.

"Huh. I'm from Massachusetts. Andover."

"Hm. You have the longer drive, I'm afraid." Jeremy flashes me a cocky smile. 

The lights dim again, which helps to hide my blushing face. I tune into the show to see Connor sing about the Insanely Cool Jared Kleinman.

—

The show ends, and I rub my eyes as the lights brighten. "Holy wow, that was good." I have a bunch of pictures and videos of the curtain call, so I can give Christine her daily dose of Broadway.

Michael stands up. "I know, right?" He waits for me to get my backpack. "Stagedoor?"

"I was thinking of getting merch, actually." I stare at the stand. There's notebooks and shirts. *But it's probably overpriced, so let's go." 

We manage to get a spot next to the fence boundary they've set up, in the front of the crowd. It's warm, so I quickly take off my cardigan and stuff it in my bag. I look at Michael, who's looking at me, still in his sweatshirt.

"You're not hot?" I ask in disbelief.

"No, I'm scorching." Michael wipes his head.

"Then...take off your sweatshirt? Unless you don't have anything under that, then-" My face is red just thinking about it.

"Nah, I have a shirt. I guess I can just tie it around my waist." He hands me his phone, Playbill, and ticket. "Hold?" I do.

He takes off his sweatshirt, and it does that thing where it brings your shirt up with it. I quickly pull it down, inhaling the scent of Irish Spring. 

"T-thanks." He stutters, tying the clothing around his waist before taking his stuff back. "That was awkward."

"Don't mention it." I turn to see Will Roland come out into the sun, and hear the reply by a bunch of people screaming. I scramble to draw out my Jared card.  
He comes to us.

"You were so good!" Michael grins. "Can we have a picture?"

Will nods. I offer. "I can take it-"

"Nope." Michael cuts me off. "We're taking this together."

We do. It's a selfie, and you can see my awkwardness and hesitation to be included. I hand my card to Will after the fact.

He signs it, we take a picture, and I let him keep it. Mainly because, give it two days, I'll hate the very sight of it. Benefits of being an artist, amiright? 

Laura Dreyfuss, Zoe, comes out next. My eyes widen. I pull out the card. The cycle continues.

Mike Faist! Damn.

Michael Park.

Ben Platt.

I think my ears need a recovery period from how the street erupted after that last one.

"Oh my god." Michael gawked. "Ben never does stagedoor!"

"I know, right?" I stare as he signs some girls' playbill. They take a picture, and he moves on. "And the odds of the time he actually does being today, when we're watching-"

"We're pretty lucky, huh?" Michael shuts up as Ben nears us. We go through the cycle, my voice jumping half an octave higher because of course it does.

After that, no one else comes out, and I'm left to check my phone.

Dad texted me 7 minutes ago. He's stuck in traffic. Because of course he is. He's about 30 minutes out in terms of distance, but an hour or more in time.

"Oh fuck." I whisper. Michael looks up from his own phone.

"What happened?"

"Dad. Traffic. One to two hours." I groan and text out a reply; jeez ok, lowkey disappointed. what do i do?

Reply. You can go around the town, but be back at the theatre in 1 to 2 hrs.

"Damnit." Michael curses under his breath. "Same for me. Mom 1 wants me to tour the town. You?"

"One and only dad wants me to do the same." I grumble, but a little bit nicer since, hey, I have Michael. Is a transfer from New Jersey possible? Is Massachusetts a nice place to live?

"Well then, there's a Pinkberry within walking distance." Michael begins to walk in one direction. "You coming?"

"O-Oh, okay!" I nod and jog to catch up. "Right here."

We begin the route that Michael supposedly knows really well. New York is amazing, especially in mid-June. The trees are green and the breeze is refreshing. The sky is mostly clear and the smells of food and smoke and the city…

"I want to go here for college." Michael says, looking up into the sky. "Or I want to live here after college."

"I've never thought about living situations." I admit. "But looking here, observing everything…* I smile as a small girl licks an ice cream cone whilst holding her moms' hand. "It's really great. I would totally live here."

"And if you have the money, you can watch more Broadway shows!" Michael added. "New York is an amazing place." He stares off onto the long street. "Just a little longer, and we'll be there."

We reach Pinkberry, and get our frozen yogurt. 

"This is the good shit." I state, tapping the bowl with my spoon. "Holy crap."

"I know, right?" Michael sits at one of the tables, and I sit across from him. Like a date. 

We eat mainly in silence.

"Are you a junior?" I ask suddenly. "I-I mean, a senior in the fall…"

"Yes, actually. I assume you're the same?" Michael raises an eyebrow, spoon in mouth. 

"Yeah. Kinda stressful." I run a hand through my hair. "All these expectations...ugh."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You're beginning to sound like my therapist." I joke, before realizing I've just admitted I have a therapist. "I-I mean, not like I have one or any-anything." 

"Dude, Jer, chill." Michael reaches across the table and puts a hand on my shoulder. I force myself not to tense up. "I have one too. Back to my original question. What do you mean by expectations?"

"Like, okay," I tap the table. "I'd say I'm pretty smart. Like, Brooke smart. And my dad is expecting me to get into this fancy college and I know I have to contribute to the house. My mom doesn't, because she left. But I'm not worried about the academic part. Maybe a little bit. But it's the interview portion I'm scared about. Where they ask about you and your 'values'."

"Oh?"

"Everythings easier when you don't have to talk." I say. "Like, you saw I have a stutter under pressure. And the one slip-up you saw isn't the worst of it. I would be under so much pressure during college interviews...you guess what'll happen. Plus the added benefits of anxiety and ADHD."

"Oh." Michael studies me, picking me apart. "So you're just scared of talking?"

"Yeah."

"Like, if they were to give you a written version of the interview, you would be okay with it?"

I think about that one. "Yea. Because writing is easier than talking. Stuttering and fidgeting is edited out, basically. And you can erase and phrase your long winding rants into shorter, more satisfying sentences."

"I can tell you're a writer, Jeremy." Michael clears his throat. "Okay, so, pretend I'm the big mean college interview guy. What are you hoping to accomplish at this school?"

"Which school?"

"Wherever your dream school is. I'll follow along. My cousin did this to me."

"Well, um," I thought. "I'm hoping to...improve myself here. I want to be a better academic student and establish myself as a responsible participant of society. S-someone people can trust?" Fuck, I stuttered. "I want a future job in computer engineering in order to help change the world and help to evolve to the best it can be with technology."

Michael grinned. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"It's just because it's you." I mutter. "And I stuttered."

"It's one tiny slip-up, man." Michael pat me on the head. "You'll be great. And I'm essentially a stranger, so…"

Right. We met 3 hours ago in the Music Box Theater.

"Still." I eat some melted fro-yo. I stand up. "Want me to throw your cup away?"

"Sure thing, tall-ass." Michael gives me the cup.

"I'm not even that tall-" I grumble as I dispose of the containers and walk back. "What now?"

Michael stands. "Hm. We can just walk around?"

"Sounds great." I open the door and release myself into the world of color and breeze. 

"So, Jeremy," Michael starts, keeping up the whole "therapist" routine. "Tell me about yourself."

It's a good conversation starter.

"Uh, okay. I'm Jeremy Heere. Born in Canada. I'm 17, and my birthday is October 16. I live in Trenton, New Jersey. I'm going to be a senior in the fall. I have one dad and a mom that left when I was in 3rd grade." I think before saying what comes next. "I have ADHD and anxiety, and have to take pills every so often to regulate it. I didn't take them today."

"What about your friends?"

Oh right. He probably didn't want to hear a sob story about me.

"I have some. Christine Canigula, the biggest theater nerd you'll ever meet. She's overly positive and bubbly, and loves debating about things. She's a Gemini, personality alone, and her birthday is June 12."

"There's also Brooke Lohst, who balances her social and academic life so well it's scary. She's one of the most popular and smartest people in the school. She has a shitbag brother though. Brooke's probably one of the nicest people I've met. Her birthday is January 18."

"Jake Dillinger. Jock. But pretty nice. He's dating Christine, which sucks. He's practically got his whole career in sports planned out for him. But his parents laundered money, so now they're on the run, and he's just alone at home. He throws cool parties. His birthday is August 11."

"Huh." Michael stares. "If your friends are so popular, why do you declare yourself a loser?"

"Well, Jake's only my friend because of Christine, and Brooke is there too, I guess. Not really part of the group, if you get what I'm saying."

"I kinda do." Michael looks into the sky. "Anything else?"

"No." I smile. "Your turn."

"Fine then. I'm Michael Mell. Born in Manila, Philippines. I'm also 17, and my birthday is June 7. I live in Andover, Massachusetts. I'm gonna be a senior in the fall too. I got glasses in 3rd grade. I have two moms, the second one coming into my life after my dad left. I left the Philippines when I was 1 year old and Mom 1 met Mom 2 there." He stops. "I have dyslexia, and I try to manage. But I've turned to music to help me out."

"Friends?"

"Okay, okay. Richard Goranski. Totally bi. His words, not mine. He got some bad burns in a house fire during some guys' Halloween party, but he's not all that bad. He has a shithole alcoholic dad though. Birthday is February 27."

"Jenna Rolan. Gossip queen. Literally cannot be separated from her phone. We tried, and she started hissing like a rabid animal. She's smart, and balances her social and academic lives well, like Brooke. But she's probably not as smart. Birthday is December 2."

"Chloe Valentine. A bitch if you get on her bad side, but luckily I'm not. Dating Rich, because of course she is. She's of average intelligence, but the most popular girl in the school. She has the inevitable record of being a slut, but she actually hasn't slept with anyone that she hasn't dated. That being said, she's dated 3 guys. Birthday is April 19."

"Wow. Quite the bunch." I comment as I pick at my cardigan. I really need to get a new one. "How's Massachusetts?"

"Normal? Quiet? We had that gas leak once, but that's it."

"Same with us. Except no gas leak."

I snort as we reach the theater for Mean Girls. There are some people still hanging around from the 2:00 matinee. "The August Wilson Theatre." I turn to Michael. "Have you listened to the cast recording?"

"So you're one of those people who say 'cast recording' instead of 'soundtrack'." Michael rolls his eyes. "And yes. Barrett Wilbert Weed slayed me with those vocals."

"Same. Erika Henningsen is so good though. Definitely a good casting choice. They were robbed at the Tonys." 

"I know, right? 12 nominations and no awards?" Michael crosses his arms.  
"Absolutely unfair."

I look at the theatre. "This would be a good third show to see."

"I've always wanted to see Waitress, actually. They swap out the actors and actresses so much, it's crazy. But cool. Because they're all good."

"I still need to listen to Waitress." I admit, rubbing my forehead. When did New York get so hot?

"You should. It's incredible." Michael grinned. "If I could sing, I would give you a sample, but my voice sounds like screams from hell."

"Same here. Ever since puberty." I walk past the theatre, promising myself I'll see it sometime.

“That implies you used to sing?” Michael pries, following along by my side.

“Yeah. I mean, just humming along. Played guitar. Chris used to tell me I was made for Broadway.” I remember that. She played the ukulele, still does, and I would sing without a goddamn care in the world. Favorite song was “Can’t Help Falling in Love With You”. I loved it.

“I don’t think puberty could change a voice that much.” Michael shrugs. “Like, what, a few voice cracks and that’s it?”

“Sure, sure, maybe. But, like, I guess those voice cracks stopped me for a while.” I’m brought back to when I wrote a song. Once. “I wrote a song one time.”

“Oh really? When?” 

“When I was 13? 14? Sometime around then.”

“So it was probably really edgy.” Michael snickers. “What was it about?”

“I was a big-ass loser. Geek. Whatever.” I hold the straps of my tiny backpack tighter. “So that’s what it was called. Loser, Geek, Whatever. I know, so smart. And, basically, I was kinda fed up with it? That’s when I think I began to join tech for the play and interact more with people.”

Michael smiles. “Sounds groovy.”

“You did not just say ‘groovy’.”

“Yes I did.” He pat my shoulder. “But it really sounds great. I wish I could hear it sometime.”

“I haven’t sung it in so long…” I trail off. “Maybe I could re-cover it? And send it to you?”

“That’d be awesome.” Michael diverts his attention to another theater. “Ooh, The Lion King.”

“We’re almost at the Richard Rodgers!” I exclaim, causing a lady and her family to cast us a glance. “I-I mean, Hamilton. Yay.”

“Dude. Don’t change yourself for other people.” Michael nudges me gently. “It’s okay to geek out about Hamilton.”

“You sound just like Christine,” I walk in front of him, shaking my head. “You're literally just like her."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Michael grins. "How am I like her, exactly?"

"Well, from an obvious perspective, you both love theater. Speaking of which, do you join school plays and shit?" I look up at him and realize the sun behind him gives me an Instagram-worthy view. There's sweat dripping down his face, making his hair shine. Michael wipes the aforementioned sweat off his forehead.

"I do tech crew. Just like you." Michael shrugs. "Okay. Keep going."

"Let's see, you both are stunning optimists. You have similar levels of energy, although it lacks a bit in your department-"

"This Christine sounds like she eats sugar and rainbows for breakfast." Michael almost bumps into a guy in a business suit, coffee in his right hand.

"I wouldn't rule out that possibility." I think some more as I kick a pebble down the sidewalk. "Um, you both are always giving me life-improvement tips. Like how I shouldn't change myself for other people."

"Because you shouldn't!" Michael argues. "Then your personality will become a mind meld of what everyone wants from you. That's not good!"

"Yeah, yeah, fine." I grumble. "And I guess…" I trail off. There's something else. There really is.

I think my face goes red, because Michael looks at me and asks. "You guess…? Jesus, why is your face so red?"

"I don't know." I mumble, which is true.

."You don't know what you were gonna say, or you don't know why your face is so red?"

"Why my face is red." I wipe some sweat off my forehead. "Goddamn, it's hot today."

Michael seems to doubt me, but shrugs and nods. "So, what was that reason?"

I mutter it under my breath. "You're both stunningly cute and I know I can't have you."

.Michael stares at me. "Y-you wanna repeat that?"

I blink a few times. "What?"

"You said something."

"I-I did?"

"Yeah." Michael adjusts his glasses.

"That's weird, I don't remember saying anything-"

"You suck at lying. And playing dumb." Michael snickers. "I just wanna know what it was."

Oh, no, I'm pretty sure you don't.

My body betrays me and has me say it again.

I raise my voice a bit. "You're both stunningly cute and I know I can't have you." That one song by Shawn Mendes comes to mind.

"Still can't hear you, Jer." Michael wraps an arm around me, and I think I'm about to spontaneously combust.

"You're. Both. Really. Cute. But. I. Can't. Have. You." I say a little louder now. He can definitely hear me. And he does. I hear a little bit of surprise come out of his mouth. But his hand just grips my arm harder.

"Care to say it again?"

Does, he, like get off on this? Teenage boys struggling to tell him how fucking cute he is?

Wait. Don't think about that. Oh, look, you're blushing again. Nice going, asshat.

He's still waiting on an answer, isn't he?

"You made me un poco loco."

"Okay, I get you don't wanna say it, but," Michael shrugs. "Come on. No judgement."

There is gonna be a lot of judgement for what I say next.

"You're REALLY FUCKING CUTE, MICHAEL." I practically yell the words at him and cross my arms and mutter, "And I can't have you."

I see the Hamilton logo in the distance. Michael doesn't say anything.

"Why can't you have me?" His voice is low, and my face just gets a damn ton hotter.  
Where do I begin?

"Well, uh, there's the fact that you're probably very straight." I ramble, hands fidgeting like goddamn Evan Hansen. "And we live in completely different states. And you probably don't even think I'm cute." Oh no, I'm digging my own grave. "Like, I don't even think I'm cute. Who the fuck would think I'm cute?"

Now it's Michael's turn to mutter something.

"Did you say something?" I ask.

"Me." Michael deadpans, eyebrow raised. "I find you cute. Like, really cute."

My brain has to process this, so I say, "Do you mean that as in, like, a bro way? As friends?”

"No, I mean that as in you're fucking adorable and I would totally kiss you."

Did he just say that? Did he just? Say that? To me?

"I-I-"

"Right, uh, hate to break it to you, but I'm very gay." Michael gestures to the nonexistent hoodie patch.

"And I'm Jeremy. I-I mean, bi." I bury my face in my hands before looking up at the bright lights of the Richard Rodgers Theatre. "That was stupid. I'm so sorry."

"I thought you were Jeremy?"

"You suck." 

"No, I'm Michael."

We stop in front of the theatre. My breath catches in my throat and I marvel at it all.

"I really wanna watch this goddamn show, Micah."

"Ooh, nicknames. Getting real scandalous." Michael releases his grip and stands in front of me. 

The light shines on his face, bringing out those chocolate brown eyes and that fucking smile and the sweat dripping down his chin and oh my god I want to kiss him.

"That's not scandalous at all." I step the tiniest bit closer. The world around us dulls into white noise. It's just Michael and I here. Now. Michael, the kid I met 3 hours ago. Michael, the cutest fucking boy I've ever seen in my life. Cuter than Jake. Suck it, Chris.

"Oh, really?" Michael steps closer. "Then what is?"

I mentally prepare myself. In for 4, hold for 7, out for 8.

"This."

Before I can process it and stop myself, I grab his shirt and yank him towards me. As Christine would say, that's a fucking top move. Especially for a self-proclaimed bottom.

But Christine isn't here. Christine isn't on my mind. Michael is.

There's a solid few seconds where it's just me and I'm starting to think I've made a huge fucking mistake. What was I thinking? Thinking that this guy would actually like me enough to kiss me back?

But then I feel someone run a hand through my hair and grip my neck and oh my god he's kissing back. 

And he's such a good kisser.

My hands instinctively go to his face from his shirt, and I lean in more and maybe even let out a little whine.

Michael says nothing, but he expresses it all in action. I'm hungry (understatement: I’m fucking starving) for more. He was right. I couldn’t give two shits if anyone’s watching.

His lips are so soft. Just like his hands, which are currently tracing my back and gripping my hair. I could stand here, in front of Hamilton, and kiss this boy forever.

But I'm the one that opens my eyes. I'm the one that let's go of his face and steps away and wipes my mouth and stares at the ground. Michael lets go too and holds onto my arm.

"I-I, um," I stutter. "I'm sorry. That was really uncalled for and I get that might have made you uncomfortable-"

"Jeremy." Michael's voice is firm and it practically begs me to look up, so I do. "That was fucking amazing."

"It was?"

"Seriously." Michael smiles and gives me a hug, one that makes me inhale the cologne he's wearing and lay on his shoulder for a bit and smile. 

"Then I'm glad." I pull away. "But...I don't know."

"You...don't know?"

"It's like a bad romcom." I say. "I just don't wanna get...hurt? Is that the word? Like, I’m gonna have to leave in 15 minutes and we probably won’t see each other ever again.”

"Oh. I get it." Michael looks away. "Yeah."

"Yeah."

"I mean, we have Insta, right?" He smiles sadly and takes out his phone. He types something out and I feel a vibration in my pocket.

I check my phone. 

He's sent me a phone number.

I hold the screen up. "Is this yours?"

"Oh, no, I just sent you some random kids' number-" Michael snickers. "Of course it’s mine!" He holds his arms out. "We should get going."

I see a text from my dad. "Yeah. We should. Music Box Theatre is pretty close anyway."

We walk in silence. But I speak first. "We should meet up here sometime. And see Mean Girls."

"Or Waitress." Michael adds. "You really need to listen to it."

I nod. "I should." 

We get to the theatre and I see my dad in his old blue car. I point this out to Michael, and we walk towards it.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye, Jeremy Heere." Michael smiles and gives me a little salute.

"Until next time, Michael Mell." I give him a quick hug. "I'm really glad I met you."

He pats me on the shoulder. "Me too."

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading my trash. go recycle and help the planet.


End file.
